


Clair de Lune

by sinkingsidewalks



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: I wrote a proposal, M/M, PINOF, PINOF 8, i can't believe it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkingsidewalks/pseuds/sinkingsidewalks
Summary: "He holds the box, after a moment, and still doesn’t know whether he’s explaining or proposing."
Because Phil protested a little too quickly when Dan went for his bedside drawer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for writing this. 
> 
> This was written and posted in the middle of the night so if there are mistakes there are mistakes.

“Wait a, wait a minute, what does that say?” Dan reaches for the computer, the sly grin on his face growing, and Phil already doesn’t like where this is going. 

“What, what?” He’s getting up again from where he laid flopped down across the bed, where Dan had gently shoved him to in his quest for the laptop.

“Rummage through Phil’s bedside drawer? Okay, here we go!”

“No, no, not the bedside drawer!” Dan’s already back across the bed though, his hand pulling the wood open. Phil’s stomach is sinking a little, but in that way that’s not quite bad. He perches on the end of the bed, a foot of space between them. It’s possibly the greatest distance apart they’ve been in hours, let alone since they started filming. Butterflies erupt once the drawer fully opens and Dan starts fiddling around inside. 

The contents shouldn’t be entirely unfamiliar to him. One of Phil’s old pairs of glasses lay there, the lenses getting scratched by an errant pen. A too old bottle of lube - not the cherry kind, because really the way the smell of that lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and sex is fairly nauseating – has fallen to its side, darkening a patch of the wood where the liquid must have seeped out of the bottle. 

Dan, however, chooses to pick up a tube of lip balm. Phil stares at it while Dan remarks upon the SPF. He pouts towards the camera, the one that feels like it’s staring him down, reading all of his inner secrets, all of a sudden, trying to calm his shaking nerves. He’s pretty good at acting, at not letting his feelings slip through to the surface when he doesn’t want them to. 

“I’ve got sensitive lips.”

“How pale are you?!” Dan tosses the lip balm back into the drawer and turns to smile at Phil, that little one, the one that’s meant to reassure, when they’re filming, that they’re both on the same page. It drops when Phil doesn’t smile back. His gaze falls back down to the drawer, following Phil’s own gaze down to the object Dan missed in his first search. 

The box sits tucked up into the corner of the drawer, where Phil had not so effectively hidden it all those months ago. Dan sees it immediately now, having had his attention drawn to it. He reaches out and picks it up in what seems like slow motion. The black velvet covered box sits between a few of Dan’s fingers, like he’s afraid to be holding it. The corners are rounded and there are two tiny gold hinges along one side, a seam around the middle. Dan and Phil stare at the box and the camera stares at them. 

Phil always thinks that it should make noise, the camera or the lens, or maybe the lights, he’s not quite sure. He just knows that every time he finds himself in this position, with the scene set up and the camera rolling and he finds himself paused in whatever he’s filming, there’s a level of silence that doesn’t quite seem right. Maybe it’s just the misplaced nostalgia from old movies and the clunky cameras he started on. Maybe it’s because of the way the fan used to whirl on his laptop constantly, like a running engine, and now there’s only silence. The technology as still as he is. But the camera records, collecting the moment, and it feels like there should be actual film involved still, something physical, more than just his SD card, running through the lens. Something tangible to actually be capturing this moment. Dan’s camera, his tripod. 

Dan’s other hand reaches forward, plucking at the lid of the box. He does it slowly, like he’s genuinely uncertain of what’s inside, as if there were something there to startle him. Phil wonders how he couldn’t have known what this was the moment he saw the box. He still hasn’t looked at him, and Phil’s got no idea what he’s thinking. 

“Dan-“ Phil almost tries to stop him, but it goes unnoticed. He doesn’t know how he wants this to play out because he hadn’t gotten this far. He hadn’t gotten to the ring and the speech yet in his mind, hadn’t figured out the way to put together everything he feels and wants to, well needs to, say to Dan to make him understand. To understand that when they talk about the future, in jokes and casual moments, Phil means them all. He wants the house and the garden with the frikken Shiba Inu and the kids that will chase it around. The kids that will call Dan Dad and have him kiss their bruises and sit on his lap to play the piano. 

But he hasn’t gotten to those words yet. He just saw the ring, in an utterly unremarkable shop, on one utterly unremarkable day and he’d known that it was the right one to give to Dan. There hadn’t been anything specific about it, he hadn’t even been looking for it, hadn’t even been thinking of looking for it because as much as he wants that future, they’re not there yet. But he’d glanced into the shop window and his gaze had gotten stuck on that ring and he’d known exactly how it would look sitting on Dan’s left hand. So he’d marched inside, without letting himself second guess, and bought it. Then he’d tucked it away and had tried not to think of it too much. He’d tried to turn the anxiety, the excitement of wanting it, into energy to plan the perfect proposal. The problem, now, is that he hadn’t gotten that far into it.

The hinge creaks as it opens, then clicks into the upright position and Dan pulls his other hand away again. Phil tries to read is face but can’t, his heart is beating too fast underneath his skin for him to figure out much of anything. The ring inside is shining, despite it sitting abandoned for months now. It doesn’t particularly look like an engagement ring, there’s no massive fancy diamond in the center of it or anything like that. It’s just platinum, with a delicate design etched into the surface and a couple of absolutely tiny so blue they’re black stones sunken in.

After at least a minute of staring at the ring, Dan looks up. Phil swallows hard as their eyes meet. He’s usually so good at reading Dan’s mind, of knowing what he’s going to say before he says it and think before he thinks it, but right now it all feels foreign. Like it’s not his Dan sitting across the bed, his bed where they’ve sat and slept thousands of times before, but a curious twin. A being with Dan’s body but somebody else’s brain. Phil reaches forward and takes the ring box from him anyways, moving so slowly that they might as well be underwater. 

He holds the box, after a moment, and still doesn’t know whether he’s explaining or proposing. 

“Dan-“

“Yes.” Dan chokes the word out, his eyes almost but not quite filled with tears. The answer to the question that Phil hasn’t asked. He’s so much more certain than Phil has ever felt that all the tension runs out of the situation. 

“Oh thank god I had no idea what I was going to say.”

Then Dan’s laughing and Phil’s laughing and Dan sort of launches himself forward to grab Phil. It pushes them both over onto the bed, their limbs sprawled on the too small surface, Dan’s upper body pressed into Phil’s. The box slips from Phil’s hands in the process but he hears the lid snap shut so he’s not worried. 

Dan kisses him softly, just for a moment, because both their mouths are contorted into too large grins that neither can really compress. 

“I love you.” Phil says because he feels like he really should have said something and even if this isn’t a monologue it’s at least true, possibly the truest thing he has to say.

Dan laughs. “I love you too, you spoon.” And he kisses Phil again. 

The camera spins on, the lens still focused on the foreground where they were sitting together only moments ago. It leaves the pair slightly blurry in the footage but in a way that’ll be endearing when they go back to rewatch it later. When they return to set it in the folder with the rest of the clips that will never go online. For now though, the setup is forgotten, as is the draining camera battery, and the ink, now smudged, across their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, I thought of this watching PINOF8 for the first time and I haven't been able to get it out of my head so I'm putting it here, yay! Let me know what you think.


End file.
